


Cruisin' for a Bruisin'

by FailureArtist



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe - 1950s, Anal Sex, Beating, Bondage, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Gang Rape, Greasers, Humanstuck, LITERALLY, M/M, Oral Sex, Public Humiliation, Species Swap, Time Travel, Vomiting, homophobic violence, mentioned amporacest, possibly underage characters having sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-30
Updated: 2016-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-18 18:30:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8171621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FailureArtist/pseuds/FailureArtist
Summary: Cronus said he wished he was in the 1950s. Unfortunately, he got his insincere wish.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note the Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. This is not a pleasant story. Along with the overwhelming homophobia, there is a small moment of anti-Semitism. Cronus also thinks the r-word in his 
> 
> There are historical inaccuracies. For one, people in 1956 wouldn't use Greaser as a word for a distinct subculture instead of just a slang term for a guy with greasy hair.

Cronus Ampora wakes up to find himself completely human. He lays on a sleeping platform in only a pair of blue-and-black-stripped boxer briefs and a thin white tank top. His grey skin is now a sickly pink color. His sharp orange-yellow nails are now a pinkish-purple color with blunt white tips. His tongue feels his mouth and find the sharp teeth are fairly blunt. His head is lighter so he rubs his scalp and finds the lightning-shaped horns he was so proud of are gone. He lifts the tank top to find his chest is much different. In the middle of his chest are two pinkish-brown nubs. There is a mysterious indent in the middle of his stomach. Meanwhile, the sides of his torso are completely free of stubs. The nubs don't feel half bad to the touch, not to dissimilar to legstubs. He doesn't want to touch the indent, lest something leak out. His boxers are still firmly on but he doesn't feel he could handle looking at his crotch at the moment.

He turns his attention to his new respiteblock, in hopes that would make him less likely to freak out than whatever is in his boxers. Underneath him, the sleeping platform is very nice even though it is weird to see furniture made of trees. He is glad humans didn't have recupercoons like the poor unfortunate Alternians did, since he didn't think he'd be able to wake up slimy. Instead, he is on soft light blue sheets. The block is lit by the light coming through the long windows above his bed. There's probably a lamp somewhere but the windows are fine for now. He gets up onto his new human feet. There are lots of clothes in the way but the floors are tree-made like the furniture and in the middle is a circular rug made of some rough fiber. He is satisfied with the size of the respiteblock. The walls are entirely covered in posters of humans and their cars. There is a large desk in one corner, though it seemed less a workspace and more a storage area. Above the desk are shelves crowded with paperbacks, magazines, and model cars. In another corner is an impressive glass tower that's filled with electronics that though primitive to a troll are probably state-of-the-art for a human. Beside it are two crates of full of cardboard sleeves. He opens up one with a scantily-clad human woman on it and finds a large black disk. Trolls used to have something similar for recording music but he doesn't feel like figuring out then how to play it, so he puts it back. The largest piece of furniture is a vanity with a mounted disk on it. He finds this disk pointless until he rotates it and finds a mirror. His human face is at first completely alien to him until he recognizes the trademark Ampora good looks that transfered from his previous form to this one. His forehead scars are still there, still looking so unlike normal scars as to suggest magic, though magic is fake. He smiles, revealing blunt teeth that make him want to close his mouth again. His tousled hair is just a black as it was before and he's grateful because despite the fascinating colors human hair comes in, he'll always think black is the most fashionable. His eyes are a shade of blue he approves of, though he could do without the whites. His eyes are torn from his sexy image to a sexy calender image of a human female. He looks at it to see it is displaying the page "September". He takes the entire thing off the wall to see it's for the number 1956. He figures this translates into some time in the human epoch called "The 50s". This is the time of the greasers, and he must be one of their number.

In his previous life, when he said he wanted to be a human greaser, he said it knowing he would never ever become one. He didn't actually know much about them. His research consisted entirely of once watching a human movie "Grease". He had loved the music and dancing, but he can barely recall the plot. Maybe the movie didn't have a plot and that's why the title was only one word, he muses. The walls don't have a poster of that movie or its photogenic stars. Will he have to get one later?

He looks back at the calender. A day is circled and in the human language he can now read it says "1st Day!!". The first day of being a human? Or is it something else?

There's a knock on the door. A female human voice rings out. "Sweetie! It's almost time!"

"What?" he says and is shocked to find his accents is gone, replaced by an accent similar to hers.

"Time for high school, remember?" the voice says sweetly but with an edge, "You're a Senior now!"

"High school..." he mumbles. He remembers school as the place all the characters in "Grease" hang out at. He must be someone special to be a Senior at a High school.

"Get dressed and come downstairs! Eulabelle's food is going cold."

After she says this, there are high-heeled steps away from Cronus' door and down a set of stairs. He wonders who she was and who this Eulabelle is.

He opens a drawer and in it finds a variety of t-shirts in not just white. He wants to spend all day looking through them but instead he randomly picks a violet one. In a lower drawer are various pants. He thought it would be all blue jeans but mostly it's dull brown black and grey trousers. He finds a pair of dark blue jeans and shimmies into them. His hips are the same as they were as a troll but his crotch feels different. He doesn't spend long thinking on this. Though he wants to wear boots or sneakers, all he can find in a couple minutes are loafers. He puts them on. The vanity is well-equiped with hair supplies and he quickly greases his hair and pulls a comb over it. It's not his best work but maybe the spontanity makes it sexier. He wipes his hand off on a nearby handtowel before leaving the block.

He walks down the steps until he reaches an entrance hall. There is action across the way and looks in. It seems to be a food preparation block with a small dining area. Sitting at the table is an adult woman and an adult man, though he can't see the man well behind the newspaper he reads. Their skin is the same pale shade as Cronus'. He figures these are the dual lusii every human wiggler gets assigned to. Then he sees behind the counters another adult woman, but her skin is much darker than the other humans. Does he have three lusii?

Cronus enters and the pale woman looks at him and gasps. He looks around to see what she's reacting to but finds nothing. She then talks in the same voice he heard upstairs.

"Cronus Ampora!" she exclaims. Now Cronus knows his human name and he's disappointed it's the same as his old name. He didn't even know Cronus Ampora could be a human name.

"What's wrong?" he snaps back. The double-u's are still strange in his mouth.

"You can't wear blue jeans and t-shirts to school!" She turns to the adult man. "Right, John dear?"

The man doesn't put the paper down to look at Cronus. "It's what the kids all wear."

"Well, maybe THOSE other kids, but not an Ampora. Just because these public schools don't have uniforms doesn't mean students should dress like hobos."

"The nuns aren't there to send him home. Just let him wear what he wants, Linda. Otherwise he'll just waste time redressing in the bathroom."

The woman, this Linda, crosses her arms. "We should have never moved to New Jersey. It's been a bad influence on Cronus."

"We can talk about that later."

"John, damn it, you just can't -" She immediately composes herself. "Eulabelle," she says to the dark woman, "you have finished packing Cronus' lunch?"

"Yes, ma'am," says the dark woman in an accent completely different from the rest of the family.

"Good. And get the laundry started while I'm at bridge club."

"Yes, ma'am."

Cronus figures then the dark woman was some type of servant. She isn't as elegantly dressed as the pale woman. The pale woman and the pale man seem to be kismesises as well as joint lusii. Cronus sits down at the table. He can see John's face better and it looks fairly similar to his, though he sees plenty of similarities between him and Linda. He thinks human lusii are genetically similar to their charges but he doesn't remember how it works.

Besides the human lusii at the table, there are plates with unfamilar food. He picks up with his fork a cylinder, expecting it to taste like a grub, but it's tastes like some unidentified type of meat. He lifts a flat brown circle with his fork just enough to eat it. It tastes sweet but bland. John puts down his newspaper long enough to grab a dark cannister and pour the contents on his plate. When he's done, Cronus does the same with his own plate. The circle is now damp and crumbly and tastes all together too sweet. He doesn't want to eat more.

"Can I just go?" Cronus asks.

"I suppose so. You don't have much time."

"Don't speed," says John as he smiles at Cronus for the first time, "I just got you that car."

"He didn't need a new car," Linda mutters.

Eulabelle holds up a metal box. "Don't forget yah lunch, Mistah Cronus!"

Cronus gets up, walks to the counter, and takes the metal box from the servant. He turns back to his lusii.

"So, where is this car?" Cronus asks.

"It should be there," John says, pointing at a back door with a dark window, "Unless you crashed it last night."

"You had better not," Linda says.

Cronus is about to go through that door when Eulabelle goes, "Don't forget yah keys!" She points at the hooks next to the door. On one of the hooks is a leather keychain with the word "Greaser" on it. Cronus proudly takes it.

The garage has two human vehicles in it but Cronus knows which one is his. It's the shiny red one next to a clean but dull brown vehicle. On the fender and on the side is the word "Eldorado" in human script. Fins like sharks pop out of the back. It doesn't have one but two fin hood ornaments. There doesn't appear to be a roof on his car but he figures he doesn't need it. He gets in the seat behind all the equipment. Though he has been in the dark about everything this morning, when he touchs the circular steering device, he suddenly knows all he needs to know about operating this Earth vehicle. This is especially amazing since he never got around to learning how to operate Beforan scuttlebugs and those practically ran themselves. His right hand goes to put on his seatbelt but he finds none. He shrugs this off and instead adjusts rear view mirror. He looks so cool in his black leather seat. More is needed for his look. He opens the glove compartment to find black shades. He puts them on. The double-sided key goes into the ignition, rewarding Cronus with the purr of the engine. He is ready to put the pedal to the metal when he remembers he needs to manually open the garage door. The 50s were a primitive time.

So Cronus opens the garage door into a neighborhood that looks very midblood. The sun is bright but not deadly. He takes the Cadillac through before manually closing the door behind him. From there on, it's smooth cruising.

Cronus hasn't felt right all morning until now. He had wondered if this so-called dream come true was an actual dream come true. Yet now he is sure that the things he said he wanted were what he actually wanted. He hopes that all his other friends are in this universe so he can show them up. Who he really wants to see the most is Meenah. It briefly occurs to him he doesn't know what's in his briefs, but the thought passes.

Speeding along the road is fun for fifteen minutes before he realizes he has absolutely no idea where this "high school" is. Possibly it is on a mountain, hence the high, but he sees no mountains. Instead, there's just a neighborhood that doesn't look the best. He sees a faded sign that says "ANGELO'S" and as foreboding as it is it looks familar to him, so he turns his car up the alley. The car stops purring when he takes out the keys and puts them in his pocket. He gets out of the car and goes around to the front door next to the garage door. He rings a bell and waits.

When the door opens, Cronus is thrilled to see a bald greaser scowling at him.

"You again?" the man asks in an accent that sounds vaguely like Meenah's.

However, Cronus immediately pushes past the man to see the rest of the garage. There are Earth cars in various levels of dismantling. Though he didn't before have any interest in mechanics, beyond what he could fake for Hourss' attention, now he finds these Earth cars the most fascinating things ever. He takes off his shades and drinks it in. As he wanders around, he slowly realizes he's also surrounded by about a dozen or so greasers.

Greasers! Real life greasers! They are greasy, of course, but also so handsome. Well, maybe they aren't all handsome, some are downright ugly. But just being 50s Greasers makes them sexy to Cronus. The greasers can't keep their eyes off Cronus either.

"Ampora!" yells the bald greaser, "What'er you fuckin' doin' here?"

Cronus puts back on his shades. "Well, I was cruisin' along in my cherry-red 1956 Cadillac Eldorado, rushin' to get high at school, when I realized - ha! - I didn't know where school was. So I thought my fellow greasers would be able to steer me in the right direction."

"Are you jokin', Ampora?" asks a greaser with an eyepatch.

"Um, no, I really am lost," Cronus says.

The bald greaser says "So you got lost and came here to mock us drop-outs?"

"I'm not mockin' you," Cronus says, "I'm one a you...right?"

The bald greaser spits. "Stop sayin' you one 'a us, Ampora. You been tryin' that since your rich ass moved down last year."

"But can I be one 'a you? I mean, I got the clothes and style and my ride is cherry!"

The greasers laugh. Another greaser strides up to Cronus and looks down at him from a great height.

"So you think you can be a Greaser? Greaser ain't something you can buy, rich boy. Your old man can't buy you the leathers and the cars and hair grease. We buy everythin' ourselves cause we have no choice. Greaser is a state 'a mind and you have no fuckin' mind. You got your country clubs, leave us with our clubs, capiche? Scram, kid."

However, Cronus is too busy admiring how handsome this greaser is. He has such soulful big brown eyes and he fills out his t-shirt nicely. The greaser is at the Rufioh level of attractiveness and his cowlick reminds Cronus of the troll. Cronus wonders if he can get with the Rufioh in this universe.

"Maybe you can make me a man, big boy," Cronus says sexily.

The Handsome Greaser gives a look of confusion that turns Cronus on. "Huh?"

Cronus strokes the greaser's arm. "I mean, maybe you can fuck me until I'm a Greaser."

The Handsome Greaser steps back. "Fuck you?"

There are gasps and muttering around the block. Cronus stops gazing at the Handsome Greaser to notice all the disgusted looks around him. Again, he's chosen the wrong time to hit on someone.

"Unless." Cronus sighs. "You want to take it slow and do all that datin' bullshit first."

"Datin'? Fuckin'?" the Handsome Greaser asks, "You some kind'er fag?"

The others chime in to, asking Cronus the same type of question.

"What's a fag?" Cronus asks, "Isn't that a smokin' thing?"

The bald man says, "It means you's a girly-boy that's got the hots for men?"

Cronus snorts. "I am not a girl."

"But you got the hots for men?"

"'A course! Who doesn't find men hot?"

A chorus of male voices say they didn't find men hot, that girls were hot, that they weren't fags or pansies.

"You are all lying," Cronus says, "Is this some sort a Greaser thing? Men and men not gettin' together?"

A very muscular Greaser says, "That's the law, rich boy. Men and women, Adam and Eve, only."

Cronus realizes that in "Grease", none of the T-Birds hook up together, nor the Pink Ladies. In fact, he hasn't seen any human media where male characters or female characters pair up. He had heard that only males and females could reproduce together but he didn't know this was so important as to make all other mating taboo. Judging by the looks of the humans around him, this isn't a minor faux pas. He lifts up his shades for earnesty.

"But..." says Cronus weakly, "I guess I can learn not to? I mean, I already like chicks...just cut out the guys part?"

The Bald Greaser laughes. "Oh no, if you want guys so bad...you should get it, right?"

The surrounding Greasers wink and laugh at each other. Cronus' human hairs prickle. He is supposedly getting something he wants but he's not sure he wants it.

"Look," Cronus squeaks as he puts his hands up, "I don't need anything more, I'll just leave you to be Greasers and shit and I'll get to school."

The Bald Greaser says, "You ain't goin' nowhere. Butch, go!"

Before Cronus can do anything, a heavily-muscled Greaser grabs him from behind and puts his arms in a lock. Cronus struggles against the uncomfortable position but even after three sweeps in a video game he's not an expert in the marital arts and he soon gives up.

"We're goin' to school you, you sonuvabitch!" yells the Eyepatch Greaser.

The other Greasers cheer. Meanwhile, the Handsome Greaser steps up silently. Cronus has a brief fantasy that he'll tell the rest of them to let him go. That hope is exploded in seconds when the handsome Greaser punches Cronus in the stomach hard. Cronus has been punched in the stomach before, mostly by Meenah, but those were love hits. This human is serious. Cronus would double up but the Muscular Greaser is keeping him up. His shades clatter to the floor. Cronus feels like throwing up but there's almost nothing in his stomach. Instead, he drools. The Greasers laugh at this display.

"That's for tryin' to fuck me, fag!" the Handsome Greaser says in an unhandsome voice.

Another Greaser, one with long hair, steps up while the Handsome Greaser steps forward. He reels up and punches Cronus right in the jaw. Cronus' human nose fills with red human blood, smelling like iron. He spits up again and a few bloody teeth come out.

"Your precious rich boy dentist is gonner have a lot a work cut out for him," the Longhair Greaser gloats. Cronus worries that humans don't regrow teeth.

In a voice that sounds too much like Mituna, he says, "Pleathe thop, 'm thorry."

"We ain't done yet," says the Bald Greaser.

A high-pitched Greaser yells, "Let's fuck the pretty boy!"

"Yeah," says another, "Rip off his clean clothes, let's see what he looks like!"

"I wanna piece a that ass!" yells the Muscular Greaser behind him.

"Me too!" yells a Greaser in the back.

Cronus expected the other Greasers to say no after all the fuss they made over even considering men sexy. He guesses that even humans pretend not to want to get down when they're gagging for it. Cronus wants to feel flattered that someone has noticed his sex appeal but he never wanted it with threats behind it. As for the Greasers, they don't look so sexy to him anymore, not even the Handsome Greaser. He looks to the Bald Greaser since he seems to be the leader. The man's face is impassive and Cronus tries to look too gross and pathetic to bother with. However, the Bald Leader nods his head to the crowd.

"Yeah," he says, "Let's fuck him."

A short Greaser steps up with a knife that's out of proportion to his side.

"I'm goin' cut off his new Sears clothes!" the Short Greaser yells.

The Short Greaser brandishes the knife at Cronus' side and Cronus starts squirming again. The Short Greaser gets a hold of Cronus' tops and Cronus' first thoughts are on the damage to his clothes rather than his skin. The fabric rips easily under the knife.

"How cheap are these clothes, rich boy?" the Short Greaser asks, "You should fire your tailor!"

The other Greasers laugh. The clothes fall off. Cronus is nicked and exposed.

"These spray-on blue jeans, they're gon'ner be a problem," the Short Greaser says.

"Take 'em off!" yells the High-pitched Greaser.

The knife moves to Cronus' crotch and Cronus tries to move out of the way.

"Stay still!" the Short Greaser hisses.

"Pleathe," begs Cronus again, this time more pathetically, "Let me take dem off mythelf."

The Muscular Greaser says behind him, "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He tightens his hold. "But we ain't lettin' you go."

The Short Greaser cuts the fly buttons on Cronus' jeans one by one. The jeans are pulled down just enough that the Short Greaser's knife can find purchase in them. Cutting the demin seems to be difficult, with lots of sawing, but finally the Short Greaser reaches the end. The jeans are pulled off. While the Short Greaser kneels down, he tsks.

"You tryin' to be a Greaser in school shoes?" he asks.

"Fuckin' shame," the Highpitch Greaser says.

The Short Greaser pulls off Cronus' shameful loafers. He tickles Cronus' feet and Cronus is surprised at how sensitive human feet are. However, he responds by laughing. The Greasers laugh back.

"Get off his shorts!" the Highpitch Greaser says.

"Yeah," says the Handsome Greaser, "I wanna see what meat this pansy brings to the table."

Strange human insult aside, Cronus would have been overjoyed at a handsome person saying that to him. Hell, he would have been happy if anyone said that to him. Now he hates those words.

The Handsome Greaser slowly pulls down Cronus' underwear. Cronus hadn't checked what genitals humans had. "Grease" didn't have the answer and he hadn't been in the mood to research it. He isn't obsessed with animal genitals like Horuss. Now he is going to find the truth first hand. Instead, he closes his eyes.

"That's it?" says the Handsome Greaser.

Cronus gives in and looks down. He at first sees some black curly hair which looks out of place. In the forest of hair, he see flesh mushroom lying on a hairy sack. It isn't an attractive site but he wonders if there's something else wrong with it. The Muscular Greaser and the Handsome Greaser turn Cronus to the crowd. The Handsome Greaser's warm but rough hands gently cups Cronus' disappointing genitals in a strangely pleasant way.  
  
"Look'it how small this is!" the Handsome Greaser calls out.

"Pathetic!" yelled another Greaser.

Genital size seemed to Cronus to be strangly important in humans. With trolls, their bone bulges are all about the same size. A small bone bulge could rub as well as a large one. How big was the normal human bone bulge supposed to be?

A young-looking Greaser asks, "Why's't look so funny?"

The Greaser next to him answered, "He got his dick cut up as a baby. Cir-cum-size-ed. The Jews invented it but lots of babies in rich folks hospitals get it done up.

"Gross! Fuckin' Jews."

Cronus wondered if he was a "Jew" and given the Kid Greaser's reaction he didn't want to be.

"No foreskin is so strange, I can't getta hold of this," the Handsome Greaser mutters to himself.

He hocks in his hand and rubbed it on Cronus' nub. Cronus is grossed out for a second before the pleasure drives that out of his mind. The blood that isn't dripping down his face starts to pool in his crotch. There is a wholly-new sensation of growth in his lower body. This must be how humans experience arousal. Despite it all, Cronus is reacting to this and he's disgusted he's reacting.

"The fag's gettin' a stiffie!" the Highpitch Greaser yells mirthly.

The Short Greaser says, "Yeah, but can he get any bigger than

"Prob'bly not!" calls back another Greaser.

"What does he need wit' a big dick anyway? He's a fag," says yet another Greaser.

"It's the ass that's their trade," says another Greaser in a tone that tries to be wise.

The Muscular Greaser releases Cronus' left arm but before Cronus can take advantage of this the Handsome Greaser takes hold of it. Cronus hears the disgusting noise of hacking behind him and feels the even more disgusting sensation of a wet hand probing his nook. The fingers seem to want to enter him. Is this how human nooks are used? Aren't they not used for pooping like a healthy troll?

"Grothe, get off, get out," spits Cronus, literally in this case.

"I gotta see how tight you are," the Muscular Greaser answers back.

He then jams a finger in and even though the nail is blunt the feeling is sharp. Cronus' body tenses up around this intrusion.

"Yeah," the Muscular Greaser tells the crowd, "He's tight."

"I wan'ner see how tight he is 'round my rod!" yells a greaser.

Others chime in the same thing. None of them are reluctant. The Bald Greaser walks to the middle and claps.

"Youse guys, get me some duct tape and that stool over there."

One greaser brings a chest-high stool and another brings a thick roll of silver tape to the center.

"Shortstack, Butch," the Bald Greaser says to the Short and Muscular Greasers, "You bend over this stringbean and tape him to the stool."

Cronus is manhandled over to the stool and bends him all the way over. It's an uncomfortable position and the only mercy is the stool is padded. The Muscular Greaser, along with the Greaser that brought the stool, keep Cronus in place. The Short Greaser kneels down and unrolls the thick tape with an omnious noise. He binds Cronus' dangling arms to the stool legs with an excessive amount of tape. The duct tape is painful on the skin but Cronus knows it will be agony when it's torn off - if it's ever removed. Blood and drool from his injured face drips down on the floor, though his nosebleed is starting to taper off.

The Bald Greaser claps again. "Now, which order should we go in?"

The Greasers yell out age, height, name, or who wants it the most.

"Let's let Lady Luck decide," the Bald Greaser concludes, "We'll throw dice."

Most of the Greasers agree to this, though those who don't agree don't fight it. They go off to do this dice throw. The Kid Greaser stays a moment with Cronus. He takes out a bandana and wipes the poor victim's face.

"Musta hurt, bein' cir-cum-size-ed," he whispers.

Cronus doesn't respond. The Kid Greaser shrugs before leaving.

No one seems to be paying attention to Cronus and he's aware this could be his chance for escape but he doesn't know how other than to hop out. He tries once to move the stool and almost falls over. With that weak move, he gives up.

It takes forever for the Greasers to roll up an order. They chatter and banter and argue loudly a few yards away from Cronus, but it sounds so far away to him. He has time to think.

It is unreal to him. He only just got into this new body and now he's going to have sex with it. In his previous life, he'd only had sex once and it was with another troll. Eridan, despite dying at the tender age of six, had already had sex before with his advanced ex-kismesis. Hooking up with a more successful version of himself was awkward and not much more satisfying than masturbation. They split after that. There is a reason why he even after eons he hasn't hooked up with any of the infinite alt-timeline Cronus. It isn't very lucky getting lucky with oneself. Now he is going to get lucky with a dozen other people, if one could call this lucky. Did this count as getting lucky? Would he really have to suffer from twelve whole cuts to his sleeping platform? Or will it be more notches? He is not the best at counting.

The Greasers come back and despite how much Cronus hated waiting it's happening all too soon. Someone approaches behind him.

"I'm gonner grease up this pig," the man behind Cronus declares. Cronus can't remember if he's heard that voice before but he doesn't try hard to remember.

A tin squeaks open and soon Cronus feels a giant cold glob at his human nook. He guesses this grease is made for hair, or at least he hopes that because as bad as that might be for bodies, it's better than something for cars.

"You wanna be a Greaser?" the First Greaser asks as he jabs this mystery substance into Cronus' body, "Here's some grease for your hair hole!" The other Greasers laugh at this joke.

The First Greaser lubes up Cronus. One meaty finger and then another meaty finger presses into Cronus. Unlike Butch, this Greaser could stand to get a manicure. Still, sometimes those fingers rub against some sensitive part and the slight pleasure makes Cronus shudder. Were human nooks normally this sensitive and why the hell were they sensitive? He knows some trolls like nook play but he thought it was just a black pr0n thing and it has never looked appealing to him. As time goes by, Cronus wonders if this is human sex. He had heard it was bone bulges into seedflaps, not fingers into nooks. Is this the worse of it?

"Get on with it!" yells the Highpitch Greaser. Other Greasers agree.

"Fine!" grunts the First Greaser.

Behind Cronus, a zipper goes down and clothes rustle. Against his ass checks, he feels warm throbbing flesh that could only be a human bone bulge. It is much larger than Cronus', both in length and girth. The First Greaser grabs Cronus' thighs and shoves in. With the contents of an tin crammed into Cronus' nook, there's no friction, but the stretch is immense. The First Greaser doesn't start off slow but gets immediately into his pace. The stool squeaks on the floor. The Greasers cheer and clap. Cronus sobs.

The thrust just keep coming relentless and erratically angled. Only a minute or so later, a thrust goes in just the right angle to hit an organ Cronus didn't know he had. All at once, Cronus comes with a wail. The human orgasm is much shorter than a trolls and after a couple spurts, Cronus is spent. The First Greaser slows for a moment and the Greasers quiet down.

"Damn," says the Handsome Greaser, "The fag was really gaggin' for it."

Cronus curses that he was put in such a sensitive body. He wants to say he wasn't gagging for this stupid orgasm at all, that it was forced upon him by this perverted gang, but he just can't.

"Please," chokes out Cronus, "You can stop."

"Look," says the Bald Greaser in a patronizing tone, "We gotter lots a guys to go. You don't wanner disappoint 'em?"

"I better get my turn!" yells the Short Greaser.

"Me too!" yells another.

"Who wanna trade with me?" asks a third.

Cronus can't see well but he notices some Greasers pull down their jeans and rub their bone bulges. The First Greaser seems to be average in size.

Meanwhile, the First Greaser starts up again. Cronus is incredibly sensitive and overstimulated. Whatever that organ was that gave him so much pleasure, it is now a source of pain. His body vibrates under the assault on his senses.

After too long, the First Greaser moans, "Oh fuck I'm comin'!"

Cronus has images in his mind of a bloated stomach from a bucket of cum and this finally makes him want to scoot away from whatever horror this man's orgasm will bring. The man just shoves him back onto his bone bulge. The bone bulge in Cronus' nook throbs and grows bigger for a second. After not that long, the First Greaser pulls out. The liquid dripping out of Cronus' nook is unpleasant but it's not what he feared. Humans may have bigger genitals but their output was pathetic. The Greasers cheer anyway.

The First Greaser sighs. "Hot damn that was good. Who's next?"

"Me," says the Longhaired Greaser.

"I got him busted wide open for you, Hank."

Cronus gets a brief respite as the two Greasers change position. Then there are new hands on Cronus' ass. The Longhaired Greaser doesn't do any prep before thrusting in. Either the Longhaired Greaser has a pencil bulge or the First Greaser really ripped Cronus open because there's no stretch. However, the Longhaired Greaser is really long and he takes long strokes. It's not as bad as the first time but it's still horrible.

Around Cronus, the Greasers chatter. They throw insults that Cronus can't understand but knows they are insults. The noise is deafening but he can barely understand it. He wants to snap back with the best insult ever. He knows how to devaste. Yet that's back with trolls who don't take ridiculous things like having the hots for men as a flaw. He doesn't get human culture and he wishes he had made the time to do it. Plus, if he did talk, he'd just sound like that retard Mituna. Better to suffer in dignified silence, though that silence includes sobs and groans.

Cronus wonders why he's suffering. Was this some crazy karma for being a little too forward? Was giving that poor retard a backrub really the equvilent of being butt-fucked hard? Should he have listened to Porrim's boring lectures on consent instead of wondering how many tattoos she had? Who is behind this punishment anyway? How did he wake up here? Is a human troll Rod Sterling going to come out to deliver a moral?

Cronus' thoughts are interrupted when the Longhair Greaser starts grunting like a pig. A few quick slams and Cronus is filled with a second load. The product of the two human greasers is just a fraction of what one troll could do but it's too much Cronus. He doesn't want any more of this disgusting human juice inside of him.

The Longhair Greaser pulls out of Cronus but another greaser takes his place. This greaser isn't a pencil bulge and Cronus feels stretched like he was the first time. He thought he was over all this but here it comes again. The greaser keeps saying "so tight so tight I knew it would be" and Cronus wishes he was so tight he could break off this asshole's bone bulge and shit it out into the asshole's face. Instead, Cronus' asshole throbs along to the joy of the rapist. The Tight-Loving Greaser comes while stretching out the words "so tight" until Cronus completely hates that phrase now and forever. Anyone who uses that phrase with him again will get slapped.

The Tight-Loving Greaser leaves and the Highpitched Greaser laughes as he takes his place. His bone bulge doesn't hurt Cronus, at least not that much, but his voice is like nails to Cronus' ears. He's like Kurloz before the freakish troll was smart enough to cut out his own tongue.

"It's time for Carl "Ducky" McKensey, kid," he says as if he won't always be the Highpitched Greaser to Cronus, "You gonner get what you've been dyin' for, aren't you?"

Cronus remembers that this whole thing started, so long ago, because this fag-hater for some reason wanted to fuck him. If he hadn't spoken up, Cronus could have gotten away with just a beating. He had been trying to be silent in protest but he can't stand it anymore.

"You," he says, "You want to fuck me, you fag."

The Highpitched Greaser stops. "What you say, kid?"

The other greasers, who had been busy chattering amongst themselves, repeat the question.

Cronus answers, "I SAID..you FAG." The insult feels strange in Cronus' mouth but it's all so satisfying to say.

The Highpitched Greaser responds by slamming Cronus. "I'm not the queer one here," he says, "You said, you got the hots for men like us."

Cronus is gasping but he still manages to snap back, "You! Got the hots! For me! You want me! You think! I'm pretty! Pretty boy!"

"You're a pretty girly-boy."

"Yeah!" chimes in the Tight-Loving Greaser from somewhere far away, "That's why we love your ass!"

The Short Greaser says, "That's why we like your pretty lips too."

"We're real butch men," says the Highpitched Greaser, "Real normal men. You're the one gettin' off on being fucked in the ass by a real man. I'd never get off from that!"

Cronus wants to say he's normal but it does seem pretty queer he actually had an orgasm from that. He'd been a normal troll and he got put in a queer human body. Still, he bets the Highpitched Greaser also gets off on assplay and does so every night. Cronus would totally fuck the Highpitched Greaser in the ass. Not with the lame human bone bulge he'd been handed out, but with a broom or a crowbar or anything long and hard. Just fuck that hypocrite to death.

The Highpitched Greaser's continued scretching doesn't drive Cronus out of his fantasy, but a hard slap on the ass does. Then came a second on the other check. Cronus knows his pale skin will show those handprints like red tattoos. This is worse than the fat lip he's been growing on his face.

The Highpitched Greaser gives a final squeal that could break glass. Instead of adding to the gloop in Cronus' nook, he pulls out and paints Cronus' red ass in genetic material. Cronus thought it was shameful being used as a pail but being used as a canvas doesn't feel better. The Highpitched Greaser give one last pat.

"Hope you 'member me when you sit down!" he blesses.

The Highpitched Greaser then calls to someone else.

"Romeo, it's your turn."

"Thanks, Squeaky," replies the Handsome Greaser.

The Handsome Greaser puts a hand on Cronus and Cronus' heart stops a second. Here was the cat he'd wanted to fuck in the worst way and now he's getting him in the worst way. It was a terrible wish.

"This will be a real treat for both 'a us," the Handsome Greaser says and his voice sounds too sexy.

"It's won't be a treat for me," Cronus says weakly but proudly.

"Which one a' us hit on who, boy?"

Cronus sighs in response.

"I'm gonna make this swell for you," he says.

Another tin is opened. The Handsome Greaser puts his moist hand on Cronus' sore nook as tenderly as he did Cronus' genitals earlier. More grease is added to Cronus' hole, to his relief since he was getting dry. Cronus' stretched opening sting when the Handsome Greaser circles it with his finger, but it's almost a nice sting. Cronus is amazed the Handsome Greaser is bothering with foreplay.

"I ain't a bad lover, am I?" the Handsome Greaser croons.

An appreciative greaser yells out, "Romeo knows how to treat them chicks good!"

"He's alway got 'em hangin' off him," another says.

So Cronus is just another chick to Romeo? Cronus wonders if those chicks know this Romeo is a complete douchebag? Or maybe they do know and that's why they go for the greasy rapist. That would be just like chicks. He probably also secretly gets the cats. Maybe all these greasers have gotten the Romeo treatment and that's why they're all gaga over him.

Cronus does have to admit the treatment is working for him when Romeo starts stroking Cronus' bone bulge with his other hand. Cronus had forgotten it had existed after being ignored so long. It starts to grow again and he knows as slight the change is the other greasers notice. Romeo certainly must know.

"Hey," he says, "Your pecker likes this."

"I can't see it!" says another greaser.

Cronus wishes he had a bigger "pecker". Maybe one as big as Horuss' sculptures. He wouldn't be able to wear skinny jeans but he could beat these bulge-obsessed fuckers to death with it.

Romeo stops using his hands on Cronus. He uses them to unzip his jeans. With his erection free, he rubs it between Cronus' cheeks. In total size, it seems to be bigger than the rest. This playboy is better than the rest. Human chicks dig that, Cronus guesses.

After all the teasing, the Handsome Greaser enters Cronus and this moment is so different than what Cronus expected when he hit on the stranger. Why couldn't humans just rub their bone bulges together like trolls did? True, sometimes trolls did put their bone bulge in their partner's seedflap, but that was like sticking in a finger and not this ridiculous act. Cronus hates human sex so much.

When Cronus is used to that big bone bulge, the Handsome Greaser rubs Cronus' little one. This and the slow strokes almost feels enjoyable and Cronus can pretend for a second he's not being raped but it doesn't last long. In a better day, this might have been a swell experience, but not in this mixed-up day. He can still hear the insults reminding him he's being punished.

The Handsome Greaser gets his orgasm while Cronus plateaus. When the Handsome Greaser ends his turn, he says nothing. Cronus speaks.

"'t's ober," he says, "You got your rebenge."

The Bald Greaser answers, "No, we got ten - no, eleven - guys to go."

Fifteen greasers! And he is only through 1/3rd. The familiar Muscular Greaser, whom Cronus hadn't heard from in a while, gets behind him. Though Cronus fears he'll be big and rough, he doesn't turn out to be that big and rough. However, he takes forever. Cronus isn't the only one impatient.

"God damn it," yells the Short Greaser, "I can't wait my turn! I'm burstin' here!"

"Too bad," says the Bald Greaser.

The Short Greaser rubs Cronus' fat lip. "Can't I use his piehole?"

The other greasers chatter amongst themselves.

"Go ahead," says the Bald Greaser, "Not my problem if he bites it off."

Cronus wants to bite it off. He doesn't know if he can with his blunt human teeth. Instead, he tries to keep his mouth closed but it's too hard breathing through his nose so he opens up anyway. The Short Greaser pries Cronus' jaw open and sticks in his erection. He doesn't have Cronus fellate him as much as fuck his face like it was another hole. Cronus' mouth hole drools. The bone bulge isn't that long but it's long enough to hit a spot in the back that makes he gurgle up some stomach acid.

"Yeah, gag on it," the Short Greaser says, "That's what you get for sayin' all that bullshit."

There are so many things Cronus could say right now but he can't. Since these greasers seem to know him, he wonders what he said previously. Whatever it was, it wasn't bullshit enough.

Cronus is near suffacating to the point he can see stars. He's afraid he'll die this way. Luckily, the Short Greaser is worked up enough to finish quick. Unfortunately, he doesn't ejaculate deep into Cronus' throat but instead gets his genetic material right on the worst part of Cronus' tongue. The genetic material is the most disgusting thing he has ever tasted, like a soup made of spoiled cheese and sprouted onion. The Short Greaser withdraws and Cronus immediately throws up. It tastes worse on the way up. A few greasers gag themselves and one runs off, probably to vomit.

"Gross," says the Muscular Greaser, though he doesn't stop.

"Someone clean it up," the Bald Greaser says.

The Short Greaser gets a rag and half-heartedly cleans up.

"Good enough," says the Bald Greaser.

The Muscular Greaser finally finishes.

"Your turn, kid."

"R-really?" says the Kid Greaser.

The Kid Greaser seems like he might be not that older than the Eridan Cronus lost his troll virginity too. Cronus said he'd never again have sex with anyone physically under eight sweeps (unless they were really hot) but his vow has been broken for him and not even with a hot minor.

"Sorry 'bout this," the Kid Greaser whispers as he gets behind Cronus.

Cronus doesn't accepted this snotnose brat's apology. A flat "no" is all Cronus says.

"Eeeeeeh..." the Kid Greaser says as if he's about to change his mind.

However, the Kid Greaser doesn't change his mind. He fucks Cronus like the rest, though it only takes three strokes.

Another greaser goes at it but by this time Cronus is out of it. It doesn't matter who is having sex with him. It's all the same. He's somewhere in the rafters, appreciating the cars. He should look into cars, he thinks drunkily. It would be a swell hobby. Maybe Meenah would dig it. Or maybe she'd remain an ice queen.

Cronus is slapped back into his senses by the Bald Greaser.

"You were talkin' 'bout Meenah or some shit," the Bald Greaser says, "But I need you to focus on me."

Cronus looks to see the Bald Greaser. His eyes travel to this bold leader's crotch. Hanging from his jeans is a big human bone bulge. He takes the monster and slaps Cronus' bruised face with it. There doesn't seem to be any anger in this violence. He actually seems bored. His bone bulge does react. Cronus is horrified to see it get longer and fatter. He didn't know bone bulges grew like that. He can't say for certain but he thinks this is the biggest one yet. It might be the biggest one in the human race for all he knows. He just knows it will hurt like a sonvabitch. The Bald Greaser pauses for a moment and Cronus asks the question on his mind.

"Are you leader...because bone bulge?"

"Don't know what that means," he answers, "I'm just Angelo."

The other greasers cheer and laugh.

Angelo rubs the red bulbous head of his bone bulge along Cronus' swollen lip.

"Lick it."

Part of Cronus wants nothing to do with oral sex. Another part knows it could be worse. He licks the head of the bone bulge gingerly. It bounces as it fully-hardens.

"That does it," the Bald Greaser says, "Sorry for the wait."

The Bald Greaser walks behind Cronus. He positions the tangerine-sized head at what Cronus' thought was his completely stretched hole. Time goes slowly and Cronus spends the time wishing he had taken up religion so he could have a deity to pray for. He promises if he got back to his own world, he'd take up that clowny soda faith.

"You'll never be a Greaser," the Bald Greaser says.

He penetrates and Cronus' existence is pain. The pain doesn't stop. Yet Cronus doesn't actually exist in his body anymore. He refuses to be here. Still, somewhere, a man in a strange lilting accent goes, "What are you punks doing in here? Get away from him!" Then everything fades away.

Cronus wakes up in a white block to find himself still human.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I prompted this ages ago on homesmut but I can't find where the prompt is.


End file.
